


In which Brendon Has Anger Management Problems And Ryan Doesn't Help.

by megmegly



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megmegly/pseuds/megmegly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s morning, and Brendon Urie has woken up in a foul mood..</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Brendon Has Anger Management Problems And Ryan Doesn't Help.

It’s morning, and Brendon Urie has woken up in a foul mood. He hasn’t felt like this, felt this twisting, writhing, _seething_ coil of pure unpleasantness weighing heavy in the pit of his stomach in a long time and on a normal day it would have taken him by surprise. But this is _not_ a normal day, and Brendon is _not_ in the mood to be surprised.

He storms out of his bunk and into the tiny kitchen area of the bus in search of hot chocolate, just daring something or someone to get in his way so he can _kick their motherfucking ass_. He finds sugar, milk, a spoon and even spots his favourite snoopy mug lying clean on the draining-board to the left of the sink. When, however, he reaches for the cocoa powder, he finds it totally empty which Brendon knows is _not_ how he left it yesterday morning. There’s a low chuckle from the doorway and Brendon spins sharply to glare at the wraith-like form of Ryan Ross leaning against the frame, a steaming mug of what is unmistakably the last of Brendon’s special Cadbury Swirl clutched tight between his fingers. Brendon flails and makes grabby hands for the cup but Ryan backs away, still chuckling. “Nuh-uh, _mine_.”

Brendon’s eyes narrow and he takes a step forward, growling deep in his throat with as much venom as he can muster. Ryan only giggles and darts away, escaping back to the safety of the bunks.

***

Ryan bumps into him as they’re leaving the bus. He doesn’t _mean_ to, Brendon _knows_ this, but he can’t control the anger that surges up from deep within his gut at the brush of Ryan’s shoulder against his own as he turns and shoves him back roughly and hisses _“_ What the _fuck_ is your problem, Ross? _”_

Ryan gives him a look of mild bewilderment but pokes him back gently on the shoulder, a small, bemused smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. Brendon lets out a wordless cry of frustration and pushes right past him and off the bus, ignores Ryan’s softly amused voice as it calls after him from the quiet of the stairwell. _Just.. not now._

***

They’re at soundcheck, and Brendon is still cursing the world at large. The music is distracting as always, however and he’s getting lost in the rhythm and melody of their songs. He knows them. He’s played them a thousand times before, and they’re the perfect excuse to detatch from his brain for a while. He’s just hit the chorus of _Folkin’ Around_ when an E-string snaps and flies up, cutting a sharp gash across his cheek.

“Fucking _OW!_ ” He yelps and glares daggers down at his guitar, seriously toying with the idea of abusing his rock star status by throwing a truly massive diva fit to rival even those of Ryan _motherfucking_ Ross. The cut isn’t deep but damn it, it _really fucking hurts_ and Brendon is _angry_ , okay?! It’s then that he hears it; the same low chuckle that tormented him this morning and something inside of him snaps. He points a shaking finger in Ryan’s direction and screams “I _HATE_ YOU!” before throwing his guitar into the arms of an unsuspecting tech and storming off the stage.

Even from deep within the heart of backstage – Brendon’s a speedy little fucker when he wants to be ­– he can still hear Ryan’s faint “I know.”

***

Ryan puts down his guitar and steps up to the mic.

“Hey there Vegas, it’s so good to be home! You missed us?” The crowd roars and Ryan turns to grin manically, or, at least, as manically as it is possible for _Ryan Ross_ to grin, in Brendon’s direction.

“So as you all probably know, tonight is a special night,” Brendon groans. “A _very_ special night. Because _tonight_ ,” Ryan walks over and slings an arm around Brendon’s shoulders, “Is our Brendon’s birthday!” The kids in the crowd scream their approval as Brendon hides his face in his hands.

“So I was wondering,” Ryan continues, completely ignoring Brendon’s obvious discomfort (and the eye-daggers that Brendon is shooting him from behind his fingers.), “if you’d help us celebrate?” The roar gets even louder, and Brendon can feel the stain of the blush as it starts to burn its way across his cheeks.

“You think you can do that? Will you sing for him?” Another hysterical roar. “Okay, after three! One.. two.. THREE!” Brendon closes his eyes.

_“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU,”_

This is not happening.

_“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU,”_

_SO_ not happening. Brendon is _not_ in the mood for this, damn it.

_“HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR BRENDON,”_

Ryan conducts the crowd and Brendon wants to snap off his stupid, twiggy arms.

“ _HAPPY BIRTHDAY.. TO.. YOU!”_

Jon harmonises on the rallentando at the end, and Brendon is _not_ a happy Urie. The song finishes, and the crowd erupts into thunderous applause. “Now this is a song I wrote and tonight, Brendon, it’s all for you.”

The opening bars of _Behind The Sea_ chime in as Brendon states quite clearly into his mic “George Ryan Ross the third, I _hate_ you!”

Ryan grins and blows him a kiss. “Brendon Urie, the one and only, I know!”

And they’re away.

***

After Brendon’s fifth birthday chorus of the evening subsides into drunken slurs, Brendon catches Ryan’s arm and pulls him close. He has to crane his neck to catch Ryan’s gaze, and it takes him a minute to capture his full attention; Ryan’s eyes are clouded, lost in the haze of the party going on all around them, but when he does he considers him intently for a long moment before saying quietly “You owe me a present, asshole.” Ryan’s eyes darken instantly and his fingers tangle with Brendon’s own as he leads him backwards through the crowded room towards the door and the cab that Brendon knows will take them back to their hotel. Their breathing is ragged, harsh in the cool night air as they wait outside the club Brendon hears Ryan take a deep, tense breath before murmuring back “I know.”

***

“I _hate_ you,” Ryan slams Brendon back against the door as their mouths collide; hard, hot, passionate, _everything_ that Brendon hasn’t realised he’d been silently craving all fucking day.

*

“I.. _fuck.._ I _hate_ you!” Brendon pants out as they struggle and tear at eachothers clothes, fabric falling in a frantic waterfall of scarves and shirts and belts.

*

“Hate.. _I fucking_..I..I.. _I_ _Hate..”_ Brendon mewls and fails to stifle a gasp as he rocks back against Ryan’s cool, slick fingers. He wants more. He _needs_ more. He needs _Ryan…_

_*_

Brendon is totally speechless as Ryan fucks him, capable only of whimpers, gasps, moans as he silently begs. At first it’s slow and sweet, but it gets harder, faster, _deeper_ and Brendon is lost to the tightening of his belly, the fire spreading out through his limbs even as his mind opens up at last and, in a moment of utter, _perfect_ clarity he cries “I hate you!” before coming so hard that all he sees for a long while are stars. He feels Ryan follow a moment later with a strangled moan of _“Brendon..”,_ and _yeah. This right now…_

***

They’re curled up together. Brendon’s the little spoon – he’s _always_ the little spoon, and Ryan never argues – and, for the first time all day, he’s feeling completely content.

“You okay now?” Ryan whispers into his hair, his hot breath tickling the nape of Brendon’s neck. Brendon hums in agreement and snuggles closer.

“Thank you.”

Ryan chuckles. “Anytime.” They lie in peaceful silence for a handful of minutes.

“Ry?” Brendon whispers into the still darkness.

“Mmhm?” Ryan mumbles back sleepily.

“Hate you.”

_Silence._

“You love me.”

Brendon smiles. “S’what I said.”

He feels Ryan’s own smile on his lips as his presses them gently to Brendon’s temple. “I know.”

And they fall asleep.

***

When his alarm clock buzzes him into consciousness the next morning, Brendon Urie finds himself in an _awesome_ mood.

_fin_

 


End file.
